


So We Can Carry On

by NeoVenus22



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samantha Carter was 13 when her mother died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So We Can Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> All errors in regards to age and general timeline are probably mine.  
> Spoilers: 3x13, 'The Devil You Know'; 8x16-8x17, 'Reckoning'; 8x18, 'Threads'

Samantha Carter was 13 when her mother died.

She shut down after that. She tried valiantly not to, for awhile, but external influences proved too hard to ignore. Mark held The General responsible, a fact he brought up at every opportunity. Between those fits of anger was chilly silence, the sort that made a person tense to be around, regardless of whether or not they were involved in it. Both her brother and her father regarded Sam with polite disinterest, far too occupied waging emotional war on each other.

Sam stopped eating. Most of the time, she could hide out in her room with homework, or spend hours after school, and generally avoid Mark and her father. But meals required attendance. So she stared at her plate and pushed her food around in geometric patterns, her throat constricting and her stomach impacting every time Mark clattered silverware.

"Takeout again?" Mark was a master at being snide without actually altering his speech patterns. From tone alone, he could just as easily have been talking about the weather, but there was a certain malice to his whole demeanor that made his intentions painfully clear. "It's that commitment to excellence that's gotten you so far in life. God, you even phone in dinner."

"Is it too much to ask that you pretend to be civil for even half an hour?"

Sam started separating the chunks of beef from her lo mein.

"Pretending is what we do best in this family, isn't it? Just nod and smile and pretend like everything's fine."

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, Mark. I am trying my damnedest—"

Sam moved her rice into the pool of dripping sauces, watching the brown slowly seeping into the white.

"Yeah, well, your damnedest is pretty sorry, if you ask me. Mom's _dead_. You really think slopping some soggy Chinese food on a nice plate is going to make everything okay again?"

Mark's chair scraped across the floor. Her father's fork hit the tabletop and skidded across the wood. Sam never looked up from her plate. She did equations in her head.

Mark stormed out of the room, making as much noise as possible. Her father walked out, boots thumping just as loudly with less effort. Now alone, Sam took her plate to the kitchen. No one noticed it was still full.

After another two weeks, Sam had the startling realization that under the guise of mourning, she'd become a passive participant in her own life. Enough was enough. The grief was ruining her father and Mark, she wasn't going to let it ruin her, too.

She put on a cute top, did her hair differently, then marched up to Lee Blucas. He was cute, older, and not as smart as she was. Sam asked him out. It was scary, but, she counseled herself, not the scariest thing she'd done or would do.

Lee looked her over and shrugged a little bit. "Sorry," he said, "you're too skinny."

+

Samantha Carter was 37 when her father died.

It was sort of a bad week all around. Sure, they'd defeated the Replicators, freed the Jaffa, and had somehow, mysteriously, sent Anubis packing, but it was hard to feel terribly excited when there was no one to share it with. Teal'c was busy doing diplomatic things, which was weird, weirder yet, General O'Neill was busy with paperwork. And Daniel had just come back from the dead.

Mark didn't have security clearance to know the specifics behind their father's death. General O'Neill gave Sam a few days' leave to go to San Diego and break the news, but she didn't take it. Lying would be easier if she didn't have to do it to his face.

"I thought it was in remission," Mark said. "It's been six years."

"It snuck up on him."

"He could've gotten treatment."

"He didn't tell anyone."

"Yeah, that sounds like him."

"Mark."

This was a mistake. She should have been with him, sharing a beer and some stories. Not starting the same cycle all over again. "Listen, I have some leave," she offered. She tried not to sound as defeated as she felt. "Why don't I come visit for a few days?"

"Sam..." The silence was so thick she wondered if it was dead air. "It's not your fault."

Tears bubbled up, her throat hot and thick. "It's not his, either."

"Yeah," he said, very quietly. "I know."

She got back from San Diego with the closest thing to peace she'd felt in weeks. Though with it came a certain degree of a familiar recklessness, a desperate need to reassure her loved ones that their faith in her was not misplaced. When it came to the science things, she'd never had a problem where that was concerned. It was everything else that made her halt. And once again, she was reminded of the futility of that.

It was scary, but with utter clarity, she could say it wasn't the scariest thing she'd ever done. "Sir?"

Jack O'Neill looked up from whatever report he'd been squinting at, and there was no mistaking the relief in his eyes. "Carter?"

Regardless of whether the cause of it was her or just the interruption, his relief bolstered Sam's confidence. She closed the door behind her.


End file.
